


just for one night

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Clubbing, M/M, Making Out, it's 2019 and i still don't know how to properly tag my fics, not completely responsible alcohol consumption, so self-indulgent it's almost painful, staying over at a stranger's place for the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: after an unfortunate incident, Shirabu wanders into a club to get things off his mind.what he hadn't accounted for was a spontaneous stranger who would turn his plans upside down and make the night a lot more interesting.





	just for one night

**Author's Note:**

> i started this like half a year ago and wrote the majority of it yesterday, which is quite telling of how i go about writing in general.
> 
> aka hello children i'm back on my bullshit and i offer you this extremely self-indulgent piece of trash, which was a blast to write but an absolute pain to edit. i'm posting it now because i got tired of editing so any dumbassery and inconsistencies are on me. enjoy~

“One shot, please. I don't care what's in it, just give me something strong.”

The bartender gave Shirabu a fleeting look that felt surprisingly heavy before he pulled a glass from somewhere behind the bar. “You don't seem to know your liquor well. Are you sure you don't need something lighter?”

Shirabu blinked down at the wooden surface of the bar. His eyelids felt heavy.

“Just surprise me. As long as I get something to drink.”

“It's your money, kid,” the bartender said, grabbing a bottle from a shelf behind him. “And your conscience,” he added softly, more to himself than to his customer.

Shirabu fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt as he waited. The weight on his shoulders increased, and the pounding music around him faded back into the simple hollow bass that had passed through the walls when he’d encountered the building just now. 

He had entered the club on a whim, desperate for a way to ditch his leaden heart and buzzing mind in the gutter for only a second, after walking out of the only home he had gotten to know. The t-shirt he wore wasn’t even his, and now it felt like sandpaper against his skin. 

If anything, people who might have been looking for him would never find him here.

Maybe if he stayed here long enough, he would become one with the beat of the music, one with the crowd, until he couldn't find himself anymore. 

A loud thud snapped him out of his thoughts, and Shirabu realized the bartender had finished his order. Instead of a shot, he stared down a tall glass with a straw sticking out of it and a lemon slice on the edge.  “Long Island Iced Tea,” the bartender announced simply. “Watch out, it's stronger than it looks.”

Shirabu nodded and mumbled a soft “thanks” that he was sure wasn't even audible over the music, and the bartender sent him one last glance before he went to help his other customers. Shirabu didn't like the amount of concern this particular stranger showed for him, but considering his downright edgy behavior and his rain-soaked clothes and hair, now slowly starting to dry in the hot, humid air, he supposed it was only justified. 

He took a sip from the glass in front of him and pushed down the urge to cough-- he didn't drink alcohol often enough to get used to it, that rasp of the liquid against the inside of his throat. Despite that, he found, he didn't dislike the taste. 

Glancing around properly for the first time, Shirabu noticed the club seemed more like a bar that acted like a club during nighttime. Lining the wall opposite the bar was a set of booths, occupied to the brim with guests laughing and throwing back their drinks, the empty square in between stuffed with people dancing and getting lost in the music that was loud without being deafening. Rays of blue and purple and green rained down on the people moving beneath, but the room was still lit up just enough by the small white lights attached to the walls, turning the atmosphere dim, but not dark. The room didn’t smell as trashy as he’d expected, but he still had to push back a grimace every time he caught a whiff of the stench of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Shirabu was completely fine with the idea of sitting here alone until deep in the night, downing drink after drink and dropping the edges of his mind, fading into the scenery around him as if stepping into a painting or a poster on a billboard. But when he was halfway through his drink, the alcohol already warming his near-empty stomach, fate decided to intervene. 

“Is this seat taken?” someone said, speaking up to reach over the music, and it took Shirabu a few seconds to realize the question was aimed at him. He looked up from his glass to find a boy standing next to him, eyebrows raised and a pointing finger hovering limply above the empty bar seat beside his. 

Shirabu considered telling him yes, but decided against it. “No, you can take it.”

“Sweet, thanks.”

The stranger sat down on the seat, and Shirabu pushed down the urge to scoot away from him. He quickly looked the boy up and down from the corner of his eyes. He had a young face, framed by silvery brown hair, and was wearing a jeans and t-shirt combo that was a bit too put-together to be casual, along with a beaming smile to the bartender as he bid him good evening. The boy turned to him again, and Shirabu caught the sparkle in his deep brown eyes before he hurriedly planted his gaze back on a stain on the counter. 

“Is that drink any good?” the boy asked him. 

Shirabu took the liberty of sipping from said drink before shrugging. “Suppose so.” He could’ve been drinking filthy dish water with a splash of alcohol and it wouldn’t have made any difference to him.

“I’ll have one for myself then,” the boy said, and as he waved the bartender over, Shirabu feared that if this guy was determined to have a conversation with him, it was going to be a long, long night. 

Shirabu felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he decided to pretend he hadn’t noticed the notification. Next to him, the stranger boy took his newly acquired Long Island Iced Tea in his hand, the index finger of his other hand following the outer edge of the lemon slice on the glass. 

He felt his mind distancing itself from reality, and he wondered if he would turn into nothing if he closed his eyes long enough. 

“Do you come here often?” the boy asked. 

Shirabu dragged his thoughts back to the present. Apparently the stranger wanted a bar neighbor capable of having a decent conversation. He rolled his eyes, and almost looked the boy in the eye when he deadpanned, “that pick-up line doesn’t work on me.”

That startled a laugh out of the boy. Shirabu glanced over this time, and saw that the boy’s bright smile revealed a dimple in both of his cheeks. Something in his chest constricted at both the sound and the sight.

_ He laughs just like-- _

“I-- it wasn’t--” the boy stammered. “I was just curious.”

Shirabu grabbed for his drink again, and downed the last few sips before signalling to the bartender that he’d like another. Taking that as his queue, the stranger next to him decided to taste his drink, and judging from his face he was pleasantly surprised. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before, is all,” the boy continued. Apparently Shirabu’s reply wasn’t clear enough a hint. 

Shirabu granted him this one answer, since he didn’t really have anything better to do anyway, save for staring into the distance and ignoring the world around him. He fidgeted with the straw in his drink, pushing the ice cubes around and around, the small  _ clink _ noises barely audible above the pounding music. “It’s my first time here.”

Shirabu’s phone buzzed again, and he fished it out of the pocket of his jeans with a frown. He felt his heart sink through his chest and dissolve in his stomach the moment he turned on the screen, the fog that had entered his mind disappearing entirely.

 

**Semi Eita**

Please come home, Kenjirou, we need to talk about this

**Semi Eita**

Kenjirou please, I’m sorry

**Semi Eita**

I’m tired of trying to fix things all on my own. Get lost if you want, I don’t care

 

Shirabu swiped away the messages, turned off his phone, and shoved it back into his pocket, his insides knotting together painfully. He looked up at the stranger boy beside him just in time to see him glance away from Shirabu, acting as though he hadn’t been peeking. He shifted on his seat, suddenly aware of how the fabric of his clothing still stuck to his skin. The air was too damp, the music too loud-- he would’ve left this second if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He decided the next best thing to do was to take his drink and down it completely, despite the way it set his throat on fire and made his head spin. 

“Wow, wow,” the boy commented. Something sparked in his eyes that Shirabu refused to recognize. “What’s the hurry?”

Shirabu just signalled the bartender and asked him to get him another drink. The bartender, hesitantly and with another of those stupid unnecessary concerned glances, obliged him. 

As Shirabu toyed with his straw again, waiting for his stomach to unknot before taking another sip, he felt the boy’s gaze weighing on him, clinging to him like a layer of oil. The scent of a freshly lit cigarette stung his nose.  

“Well,” the boy said, “if it’s your first time here, I could show you what this place have to offer. We could have a good time together if you want.”

Shirabu didn’t want to think about what the slight hover in his voice meant. 

“I’m discovering that myself just fine,” he responded. In emphasis, he took a sip of his drink. His insides felt almost uncomfortably warm and sloshy, but at least his head started getting numb again.

The boy sighed next to him, and sipped on his drink, emptying his glass bit by bit. Then he turned to Shirabu again, and when Shirabu deigned to glance at him again, his eyes were filled with determination. 

“Let me dance with you.”

Shirabu raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it would be more fun than sitting at the bar and drowning in drinks and cigarette smoke.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, but it had been what Shirabu had come here for. A big part of him would rather just stay put and stick to his plan. He didn’t even like dancing, much less with a stranger.

And yet.

“You get  _ one _ dance,” Shirabu decided, looking the boy in the eye to make his message crystal clear. He didn’t think he could stand more than that, but if anything, at least he’d get the boy off his back, and maybe he could even give him something to laugh at instead of a conversation that would inevitably lead to nowhere.

At least dancing didn’t involve talking.

The boy leaned back a little, the beginnings of a surprised smile lingering around the corner of his lips. Clearly he’d expected that answer as much as Shirabu himself had. “Okay,” he said. 

“Just let me finish my drink first.”

The boy nodded, giving Shirabu a quick once-over before pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping through it. Shirabu paid him no mind as he silently sipped, watching the flashing lights bounce back and forth in the glass of the bartender’s collection of liquor bottles. The music almost swallowed him, but a nudge in his side broke him out of his reverie. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” the boy asked. 

Shirabu’s gaze drifted along the surface of the bar, his pinkie circling the edge of his almost empty glass. “You can call me Shirabu.”

“Cool. I’m Yahaba.”

Shirabu offered him a mumbled ‘nice to meet you’ before sipping the last of his drink. The boy -- Yahaba -- allowed him no time to stall as he slid off his bar stool and offered Shirabu a hand. 

“Now let’s dance.”

Before Shirabu was solidly on his feet, Yahaba grabbed his hand and tugged him into the mass of dancing people. And despite his numbed mind, despite the phone jammed in his pocket, despite the fact that he normally wouldn’t dance even if his life depended on it, something tugged at his heart in a way that made him follow Yahaba without a complaint.

Yahaba smoothly found a spot that wasn’t too crowded to move in, close to the back wall. Soon he was moving on the beat, swinging his arms above his head and smiling encouragingly at Shirabu. 

_ I’m never doing someone a favor again. _

Shirabu shuffled back and forth, his arms following along, his limbs uncomfortably stiff. His movements just screamed awkward, but Yahaba’s smile in response was nothing short of beaming, and with that Shirabu loosened up a little bit. He took a deep cigarette-smoke-and-sweat filled breath, and let go. 

Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the desire to completely lose himself in something, anything, but after a few moments, Shirabu found himself moving along, found himself matching Yahaba’s movements and making up his own. He didn’t pull away when Yahaba grabbed his hands and swung them back and forth, or when he twirled him around. He didn’t stop the smile that grew, the laughter that bubbled up in his chest and mixed with the beat of the people around him jumping up and down. 

He completely forgot where he was, who he was. There was nothing but this: the disco lights gliding over the walls, turning his limbs pink and blue and green; the boy in front of him, whom he didn’t even know until an hour before but somehow clicked with, who somehow had known exactly what he needed; and the music, wrapping everything up so wholly and completely that it almost devoured him.

Somewhere along the way, Yahaba started moving more boldly: stepping in more closely before turning away again, sending Shirabu daring glances over his shoulder, small touches on his waist or arm or shoulder that bordered on flirtatious. Shirabu scoffed at them at first, or laughed them off, but after a while he started to mirror them, and he liked the zap of electricity it sent down his body when Yahaba touched him, when he touched Yahaba in return. It was like a game, an intricate dance, playing with fire and smiles, the beat of the music guiding them through their every move. 

He didn’t know how long it had been when someone bumped into him, making him stumble forward, Yahaba catching him out of reflex. He didn’t know how long they stood there, Yahaba’s hands resting on his waist, his own hands covering Yahaba’s chest, the racing heart he felt beneath Yahaba’s t-shirt. He didn’t know how long his own heartbeat had raced along with Yahaba’s when their gazes locked, and Yahaba’s deep brown eyes, almost black in the dimly lit room, glazed over with something Shirabu didn’t have the time to recognize before Yahaba leaned forward and kissed him.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of his mind, some kind of alarm bell went off, that rational voice that told him that maybe it was time to slow down, to reconsider. Shirabu shoved it down without another thought, and something bloomed in his chest when he returned the gesture, kissing Yahaba back with more force, more greed and hunger than he had thought he possessed.

Before Shirabu knew it, they had moved a few steps, and then his back was against the wall, and then Yahaba was kissing his neck, and then his own hands dove underneath Yahaba’s t-shirt and briefly explored the muscles of his back before he pulled him closer. Time seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time. The melody of the song that crashed through the room swept him off his feet and lifted him up  _ up up _ until the only thing he knew was the music and Yahaba’s body against his. 

Yahaba’s movements slowed, and Shirabu was temporarily dragged back to reality when one song suddenly faded into another. “Sorry,” Yahaba’s voice murmured, close to his ear. “I’m so shameless in public.”

Shirabu decided that it was his turn to take the reins on this. In a movement more swift than he’d expected, he pulled Yahaba to him by his shirt, turned on his heels and slammed him into the wall, leaning in so close his lips almost touched the shell of Yahaba’s ear.

“Does it look like I care?”

One of the disco lights drifted over them, turning Yahaba’s surprised face bright pink. The flash in his eyes and the tightening of his grip on his waist told Shirabu more than enough. 

“Come and get it,” Shirabu said lowly, with a smile that could set the building on fire.

Their lips connected again, and this time it was up to Shirabu to move deeper, to explore, until he could feel Yahaba’s racing heartbeat through his shirt and their breaths mingled together. Shirabu’s fingers moved up and down Yahaba’s face, through his silky hair, down his chest and up his back again. Yahaba’s hands knotted in the hair on the back of his head almost painfully when Shirabu pulled back for just a moment, gently biting Yahaba’s lower lip before trailing his teeth down his neck, leaving kiss after kiss as he went. 

The world could go to hell. He would have this and only this for as long as it lasted, and after that he would find a way to have it again. 

After what seemed like moment after moment endlessly strung together, they parted to catch their breath. Shirabu dragged a hand over his face, finding his forehead slick with sweat, his hands hot and nearly trembling. His gaze was reeling when he glanced at the throng of people on the dancefloor, some of them doing their best to pretend they hadn’t witnessed what had gone on here.

No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t quite keep his head from spinning. It was as if Yahaba had literally sucked the breath from him. 

“You alright?” Yahaba called over the music. Only then did he realize that his ears were pounding, closing off because of the loud music that now felt suffocating rather than liberating.

“I need to go outside.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Shirabu edged around the dancefloor, the sudden pounding in his head becoming more insistent with every step he took. The world seemed unable to keep itself upright as he stumbled for the exit, crashing into the door before frantically tearing it open.

Outside it was still raining. Shirabu welcomed it, along with the wave of cold air that entered his lungs the moment he stepped outside. He allowed the wall to support him as his knees gave way, and he slid to the ground, face angled to the sky, eyes squeezed closed. He gulped down the air in shallow breaths, trying to get his bearings. His clothes were soaked again in moments, but the rain on his face sobered him up, and after a while the world stopped spinning. 

The door opened beside him, and out came Yahaba, his shoulders sagging in relief when he spotted Shirabu. He kneeled beside him, eyes racing up and down his body, this time just to check if he was alright.

“This is why I don’t go to clubs,” Shirabu said, his voice hardly louder than a rasp. 

“That’s why you don’t drink three cocktails in the span of half an hour,” Yahaba countered, brushing away Shirabu’s bangs to look him in the eye. 

“Duly noted.”

Yahaba seemed to decide that he had no other choice than to get rained on, so he plopped down beside Shirabu. Shirabu couldn’t help but lean in a little, closing his eyes again and resting his head against the solid wall behind him. 

“Are you okay?” Yahaba asked softly.

Shirabu dragged in a long breath, then exhaled slowly. “Getting there.”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have made out with you if--”

“I was fine then,” Shirabu interrupted him. He wouldn’t have a stranger  _ worrying _ about him, for God’s sake. “I wanted to.”

Yahaba considered for a moment, then leaned back, his shoulder brushing Shirabu’s. If he was in any way bothered about sitting on the ground and getting rained on, he didn’t show it.

“What time is it?” Shirabu asked.

Yahaba pulled out his phone, holding up his hand over the screen to keep it from getting wet. “About 1.40 am.”

The rain and the cold seemed to drain him from the life that had possessed him before, drop by drop. He opened his eyes, and found Yahaba’s gaze resting on him, concern and something he couldn’t quite identify heavy in his eyes.

“I could drop you off at, uh, wherever you live, if you’d like,” Yahaba suggested.

Shirabu quietly shook his head, gaze fixated at some point in the distance. The unspoken words hovered between them. Whether Yahaba picked up on them was a question he couldn’t get the answer to.

“Or,” Yahaba continued, dragging out the syllable, “we could head over to my place to finish what we started?” He got to his feet, and offered Shirabu a hand.

Shirabu refused to hesitate, and his fingers closed around Yahaba’s.

“I’d like that.”

~~~

Yahaba could tell that the magic of the Long Island Iced Tea was all but drained from Shirabu the moment they reached his apartment. Halfway through the walk there, Shirabu had started leaning on him, heavier and heavier with every step, and Yahaba had shouldered him wordlessly, like he’d done many times before. 

As he jammed his keys into the lock of his 8th floor apartment, he couldn’t shake the vice-like grip of disbelief. He certainly hadn’t expected  _ this _ when he visited his usual place. He’d just hoped to have some casual fun, chat up some people, meet someone new.

He’d definitely gotten to the fun part. This was more fun he’d ever hoped to get in one night, and it wasn’t even over yet.

Yahaba sighed at the dry, warm air that came to greet him as he opened the front door, and he tugged Shirabu inside. The silence that followed once they were both inside was nothing short of deafening. 

Toeing off his shoes, Yahaba tried to shake off the sudden unease. No matter how you twisted or turned it, Shirabu was still a stranger. A stranger that was in his apartment right now.  _ And a stranger that I might get it on with later.  _

Yahaba almost laughed at the insanity of it all.

“Make yourself at home,” Yahaba said as casually as he could, walking through the small hallway to the open living space, flicking on a few lights as he went. “I’m gonna make some tea, would you like some?” 

A low hum was the only answer he got, but he took it gratefully. As he worked, grabbing two mugs and a bag of chips just in case they got snacky, he heard Shirabu wandering around. He kept himself from checking if he was looking through his drawers and personal belongings with great difficulty. But after a while the sounds of Shirabu wandering around quieted down, so Yahaba exhaled in a huff and finished what he started. 

He put the mugs and the chips on a tray and walked back to his bedroom with a small knot in his stomach, where he hoped Shirabu was waiting patiently. When he slid into the room, a soft knock announcing his entry, the tray almost slipped from his hands. 

Shirabu lay on his side, his arms tucked up to his chest, on Yahaba’s bed. His lower legs dangled off the edge, as though he’d sat down and leaned backward, intending to only close his eyes for a minute. Yahaba’s heart nearly melted at the sight.

He set the tray on a nearby dresser, taking his cup of tea and sitting down on the bed beside Shirabu. He couldn’t help but weave his fingers through Shirabu’s hair, still damp from the rain. He’d seen many expression from Shirabu already in just the span of a few hours, but this one interested him most -- like a slate wiped clean, he seemed very peaceful, very… vulnerable.

He was thoroughly passed out. Yahaba chuckled lowly.

“I should’ve figured,” he mumbled to himself, lifting his cup to his lips. “Continue what we started, my ass. The moment you were done making out you were seconds away from planting your face into the floor.”

Part of him was relieved he found Shirabu like this. It wasn’t like him to start making out with a stranger, much less to invite someone into his bed to, well, go further. He wanted to, he knew he did the moment Shirabu slammed him against that wall -- a shudder rippled down his spine at the memory -- but he probably would’ve ended up second guessing everything at the wrong moment.

It was better like this, he convinced himself, as he looked down at Shirabu’s sleeping body. Even as the weight of disappointment dragged down his limbs at the thought that all this would stop as soon as the sun rose the following morning.

The next few moments Yahaba flitted around the room, changing into clothes fit for sleeping, cleaning up a bit, sipping his tea until he emptied his cup. Then he found himself frowning down at Shirabu, who hadn’t as much as stirred since he came in. He should allow him a change of clothes too, maybe make him drink some water, but he didn’t really want to wake him up to do that. 

He decided not to bother him for now, and after adjusting Shirabu’s position so that he lay properly underneath the covers, Yahaba stepped into bed beside him. He flipped off his nightlight, and in the tranquil dark, his eyelids drooped within seconds. 

_ Too bad it couldn’t last longer _ , was his final thought before he tumbled off into sleep.

~~~~

The merciless pounding in Shirabu’s head only allowed him to open his eyes into slits.

He found himself in an unfamiliar room, the sun slipping through the gap in the white curtains and brushing gently over the covers. As he tried to sit up, his stomach churned, and it took a minute of sitting completely still and taking deep breaths before he could get himself completely upright without puking everywhere. If that was even possible, since his mouth felt positively parched.

He still wore the clothes he’d picked yesterday, the waist of his jeans digging into his skin, the t-shirt sliding off his left shoulder like it always did. He found his phone put carefully on the nightstand on his left, and on his right--

The sight of the sleeping boy next to him made him jolt backwards so violently he completely slipped off the bed, crashing into the floor with a surprised yelp that tore through the peaceful silence. 

A moment later, the boy’s face, now awake and equal parts surprised and confused, hovered over him. 

“Are you okay?”

It took a few seconds before the memories from the night before flooded back, and the tension in his chest eased just slightly. Though things got a little hazy from the moment they left the club--

Shirabu’s breath got stuck in his throat. “Did-- did we…?”

Thankfully the boy -- Yahaba, he remembered now -- grasped what he was getting at before he had to finish the sentence himself. His eyes widened, and Shirabu could’ve sworn there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. 

“Oh-- no! Goodness, no. You just passed out,” Yahaba quickly reassured him. “On my bed. Without telling me.”

Shirabu carefully sat up again, deciding to stay on the floor for now. “Sorry.”

Yahaba shrugged as if to say  _ it happens _ , then lifted a hand to rub at his face.

Shirabu decided now was the right time to turn on his phone and check what he’d missed. Unsurprisingly, there was a string of unread messages and missed calls, and yet Shirabu’s chest constricted at the sight. 

Before he could begin to swipe them away, the screen shifted to welcome an incoming call. The sudden buzzing of his phone seemed to bounce off the walls of the bedroom. Yahaba raised a brow, eyes curious.

Shirabu picked up the call, not even having to check the caller ID to know who it was.

“Where are you?” Semi demanded, as a way of greeting.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Don’t start with that attitude. I’ve been searching all night for you. I’ve called every friend of yours but no one knew where you were. Do you have any idea how--”

“You can drop the worried boyfriend facade,” Shirabu interrupted him. His voice was icy enough to make even Yahaba flinch. He got to his feet despite the dizzying nausea, and started pacing around the room to try to loosen the knot in his stomach. 

“You’re the one who just walked out,” Semi said, as though that mattered to him. 

“You’re the one that tried to break up with me,” Shirabu countered. He refused to glance Yahaba’s way. “I know you’ve been meaning to do that for weeks. So had I. And the only reason I didn’t was because  _ you _ seemed to think we still had a chance at patching things up.”

“Oh, I see.” Semi’s sudden calm only told Shirabu he was livid. “So you decided to drop me as soon as I gave you the go sign?”

“I decided to walk out because I know any argument that would’ve followed would only make things worse.”

“That’s supposed to be better?”

“I know it isn’t.” Shirabu blew out a breath. “Look, I’m somewhere else right now. I’m tired and hungover and I don’t want to talk about this now. I’ll drop by our apartment this afternoon, and then we’ll end this properly.”

“Kenjirou--”

Shirabu ended the call before Semi could finish the sentence. Only when the silence returned did he notice his breathing had become ragged.

“You have a boyfriend?” Yahaba asked. 

Shirabu whirled to face him. Yahaba’s face was unreadable. 

“Not anymore,” he replied drily. 

Yahaba dropped his gaze, and Shirabu froze as he realized what all that must have sounded like to him. 

“I asked my crush out yesterday,” Yahaba said, before Shirabu could apologize and make up faint excuses. His gaze was still planted on the covers of his bed. 

Shirabu raised his eyebrows. This was not on the list of phrases he’d expected Yahaba to hurl at him.

“And he didn’t take it well,” Yahaba continued with a half-hearted shrug. Their gazes locked. “So if you really only accepted my advances because you tried to get over someone, you weren’t the only one doing it.”

_ Oh. Oh fuck. _

“I didn’t,” Shirabu hurried to assure him. “I swear I was only there to get myself into the deepest shit you can imagine.”

Yahaba snorted. Something flickered in Shirabu’s chest.

“Listen,” he said, and waited for Yahaba to look at him before he continued. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, but you turned my pathetic mopefest into the best night of my life. I won’t forget that.”

Yahaba smiled, seemingly despite himself. “Well, if you enjoyed yourself, then I’ll take it. No matter the details.”

Shirabu realized he was still holding his phone, the flickering led reminding him of the messages he hadn’t dealt with yet. He pocketed it and sighed deeply. There was a lot he needed to set right.

“I think it’s time for me to leave.”

He turned on his heels, not allowing himself to look back. He feared he wouldn’t be able to return home if he gave himself even a second to reconsider. 

The covers of the bed rustled as his hand closed around the door handle. 

“Wait.”

Shirabu glanced over his shoulder. Yahaba stood beside his bed, a beam of sunshine illuminating part of his face and hair, turning the strands into liquid silver. He looked almost ethereal, even with his bedhead and the faded sweatpants he wore. 

“Last night was the best night of my life, too,” Yahaba admitted. “But it wasn’t the right way to start. Do you think we could… try again?”

Shirabu knew from the start that whatever connection they had would be sewered the day after. He hadn’t dared to think about meeting up for a second time, even if he wanted to. 

However.

“Try again how?”

Yahaba’s eyes gleamed. “Would you like to meet up for coffee sometime?”

Shirabu chuckled under his breath. This was no continuation. This was a second try. A chance. To do things properly this time.

Shirabu felt he could breathe easier than he had in months. His veins thrummed with excitement -- not the greed and the hunger and the desperation from the night before. This was something small and gentle and new, almost hesitant, like the flame of a candle. A spark.

He smiled, and Yahaba smiled back. “It’s a date.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> in case you'd like some fitting background music, Orion by Kenshi Yonezu fits the vibe perfectly imo :>
> 
> i would like to thank the sprinto discord bot for pushing me to write the majority of this one-shot yesterday and my wife didi for informing me that one-time casual hookups in clubs are actually a pretty normal thing, which was a fact previously unknown to me, an introverted ace.
> 
> if you liked this self-indulgent disaster please don't hesitate to leave a kudos or comment! they're very much appreciated <3   
> feel free to hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou if you would like to chat!
> 
> until the next disaster~


End file.
